Newspaper
by Shadowflame611
Summary: Raph screws up majorly, and he's not the only one struggling to come to terms with it. Rated for swearing, because I like to play it safe.
1. Leonardo: Gravity

Don't own the Ninja Turtles.

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Chapter 1

I read the headline without really understanding it, having suddenly lost my comprehension of the English language as my brain went on overload. The little pizza parlor around me spun; in my mind the people around me, sitting at the cluttered tables, suddenly became hypersensitive to my presence. _Alien,_ they would whisper to one another, _freak. Abomination._

Then something clicked. A picture, black and white and smudged with greasy fingerprints, drew my attention. The room spun faster, and I realized with a jolt that I was spinning too, spinning to that picture as though it had its own gravitational pull. I grappled mentally at the counters, desperately trying to hold myself here. A young woman with white-blonde hair and purple streaks slid our order to me; the paper stopped pulling so abruptly it was startling.

I slammed the money on the counter, perfect change. A couple of coins tried to make a run for it, rolling in every which direction. The girl brought her cupped hand down on two, missing the third as evidenced by the light _tink-think_ behind the counter, barely audible over the clamor of voices.

I shoved the pizza boxes under my arm and slid out the door as quickly as I could, making a beeline for the first alleyway. Two other trench-coated figures were waiting for me at the top of the building, relaxed. One of them leaned toward me, a smile spread across the visible lower half of his face. It disappeared as he tasted the air around me, felt the tension and the anger which was wildly starting to spin out of control.

I thrust my fist forward, holding the paper so tightly my hand shook. He received it immediately, on guard. The second figure straightened, treaded agilely over, more cautious of me.

Donatello flipped his hat up so I could see his face, glanced toward Mikey, and handed him the paper. Then he turned toward me, taking a step forward. He grabbed both my arms, shaking me lightly.

"We have to find him. First thing's first."

I clenched my jaw. I wasn't shaking any more, I was beyond that. "Idiot. Foolish, why did he-"

"That doesn't matter." It was probably dangerous to interrupt me at this point, but Don had this ability where he could do something like that and get away from it. "He's bleeding. They said they have his blood. He probably just managed to get away… if they don't already have him. We need to search. I know he's stupid, I understand the gravity of the situation." There was that word _gravity_ again. The pulling, helpless feeling. "I agree with everything you want to tell me… But we need to get him safe."

"Don." I couldn't hear my own voice, could only feel the movement of my tongue, sticky in my dry mouth. "They could already have him. They may not want the public to know that bit."

Instead of answering, he looked to Mike, who had lowered the paper. It flipped over at the top; he was glancing back and forth at us as though we were in some sort of tennis match, though we were looking at him rather than each other. Any trace of a smile had been wiped off his face, replaced by that serious grimace he wore when we were all truly in trouble.

I don't know if Don got the support he was looking for, or what that support was, because Mikey said nothing. He turned back to me, his look imploring. "Let's find him, and let's get out of the city if we need to." His eyes were doing the tennis tournament thing on my face, searching my reaction. I kept myself blank. "Now."

"Its been over twenty-four hours." That didn't even scratch the surface of what I was thinking, let alone _feeling._ I couldn't come to grips on anything. I was baseline frightened. Anger crept up from that fear; the burning-orange tips of the hottest part of a flame. I was afraid for my family- afraid, I suppose, that Raph could be dying or dead in a corner somewhere. But wherever he was now, everything had been ruined. Our fragile façade, the wall that hid our existence knocked down and ruined to the point where it was a wonder it ever existed.

Don knew that, he understood that. He had all but tackled me, pulled me down to the most important points, directing me, synchronizing with my thoughts and yet pushing me forward in the right direction as he had always done, ever since we were small. Mike understood this, too: the one who always had something to say, who always had a snide remark to throw out, had settled to a decided silence. And there he waited, they both waited, staring at me, ready to commence the search.

I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding. My jaw ached as I opened it. "He got himself into trouble, _again." _Mike raised an eye ridge, a silent display of exasperated agreement with my frustration. "… Let's go."

Where else could we go but the farm house? We had no other options, being who we are. Our other alliances were, quite fittingly, scattered among different dimensions and planets. Strange creatures run with strange crowds.

With out existence spread before the human population, I scrambled for purchase on a plane of safety for my family. Raphael lay unconscious, in tough shape, even his minor wounds infected by the dirty sewer water we had found him in. His fever ran high, Don used the word _systemic_ often when describing his state. I could deduce what that meant, and found I couldn't bring myself to care. Splinter would attempt to pull me aside, and I'd make excuses. I couldn't stay in the house for long. Mike sometimes wandered twenty feet behind me on my walks, and I ignored him.

They looked upon me with worry, a different kind than the one they had reserved for Raphael. I trained till I quite literally dropped, attempting to make my hatred for the situation burn itself out. I knew what they were thinking. They were wondering if I had returned to the state I'd been in before I went off to Japan. They were almost right; in many ways, I back in that state of mind. I had, once again, lost my footing, slipped over the edge to an insanity driven by my love for my family and the obsessive need to protect them.

My mood only worsened when Raph finally woke up. I ached to shove inside that little room, point the finger at him, _show_ him what he had done. Ignorant, he wouldn't be sorry for his actions, he would only bark back insults and, once healed, would repeat the process over and over again, until he killed us all. Just like he always did. Like some stubborn broken record.

However, with the possibility of the police down at our lair, fishing through the remains of our belongings, something had changed about this broken record of events. I wasn't just angry. I couldn't let it blow over. I wanted to make him _sorry_, to actually hurt him. But nothing hurt him. And if it did, he brushed it off easily, let his temper ride its course until he burned out.

Weeks passed, he got better. I started to hear his voice through the walls. They all tended to him but me. Don came to me one night as I sat meditating. He put his hands on my arms again, and told me it was okay what I was doing, if I stayed from Raph a while. He told me to think things through, to try to understand.

That was when I became angry, and excused him from my room. He didn't budge, and for the first time since we were children I used force to move him.

Mikey continued to follow me through the woods, tagging along almost as though he was afraid I'd leave them again. A couple of weeks after Raphael woke, I turned to face him. I was sick of being watched from afar, sick of the wide yet watchful berth they all gave me. I waited till he caught up, and asked what he expected to gain from shadowing me. He approached me slowly.

"Are you going away again?" There was no whine which so often tugged his voice, no pout when he said it. It was matter of fact, uncharacteristically blunt. I didn't know how to respond at first.

"Have I gone away so far?"

He shrugged. "Lately, we didn't know, with the way you're acting. If you were planning it. You're acting just like before."

"You don't think that's justified?" We were going to jump headlong in to this, I could see it. There would be no casual exchange.

He sucked his teeth, rolled back on his heels. "I think we all lost the same amount. And I don't get it; last time, you somehow thought everything was your fault. It wasn't yours this time. Unless you're so demented you somehow managed to find an excuse."

He was making shots at me. Through the cloud of my anger I recognized his. It took me back a few paces. All the rage I had reserved for Raphael… it was apparent he had organized his own in a different way.

"I'm not blaming myself." I let the implication hang.

His fists clenched, arms straight by his sides. His words were flat… no exclamations, just dead-stop sentences. Somehow, coming from Mike, I sensed that if he chose his words had the ability to sting the most. "Yeah, he gave us up. I know, we lost our home. All of the things we had scavenged over the years are gone with it. But that doesn't matter… it _shouldn't. _We found him, and we were able to get out. We still have to hide, and that's no different than before. We're together." He stepped forward. I braced myself, and he made no move to come closer. "I don't get it, Leo. I don't get why _I _understand this, of all people, and why _you_ don't. You, with your little pep talks about family and connections and love, I don't understand why this matters so much. I don't get why you're acting this way. We've lost our home before."

"We have never before been exposed to the humans. They've never had our DNA. Who knows what will happen when crackpot scientists get a hold of it? They could find us. All this talk of labs," My voice was slowly raising, and he wasn't flinching like he had the last time I acted this way, "all these warnings Splinter had given, all the effort we wasted to stay hidden, that's _gone._ Blown, overnight."

"You think Raph doesn't realize that? You think he doesn't care?"

"I think that if he cared, he would have realized it and quit while he was ahead!"

"Leo, _where is your brain?_ You know him better than any of us! If anyone, you're the one who keeps him in line, in the end. That has to take some sort of understanding on the way he thinks! You're not thinking straight; you let shit get ahead of you that night and you're holding it there, and you're not letting yourself snap out of it. You're being ridiculous. "

"Snap out of it? Do you think I _enjoy_ being the only responsible one here?"

"_Responsible_? All you've done is run around and train and sleep. You don't help us, you don't _ask_ about us, let alone him!"

"What would you have me ask? It's obvious you're all in pain. That's the right way to react."

"You're so obsessed with keeping us safe, but you won't come out of your own hole to talk to us? What about you? And what about Raph?"

I suddenly didn't feel like talking any more, but I couldn't turn away now. "Raphael doesn't need my advice. He never listens to it, no matter what happens. It's always been about his safety, for _yours,_ and I might as well talk to the wall. It's the same stupid process, Mike! And now that he really has done something, I'm supposed to step up and… what? 'Lecture' him? Listen to his snide comments and walk away wiping the spit off my face?"

"It's killing him!" There it was, his true rage boiling on the surface… and his fear. For the moment, it seemed, Mike had disappeared. Throughout the fifteen or so seconds it had taken me to speak, he had shifted on his feet, waiting to spit the words at me. "He almost died, Leo! He woke up and remembered what he did, he can't stand the fact that you're not there too. He won't move, he won't eat. He doesn't talk much, just to say he's effed up, to say he failed, and that you're the only one who bothers to show it. Then he totally clams. At first he asked where you were alot, but you know what? He never asked _why_. Because he knows, Leo. He knows what he did."

"And is he sorry?" There was no verbal answer, but veins popped out on his temples. Strange, we all looked so alike, and strangers to the family often had to separate us by personality. Physically, we were like quadruplets. For a split second, it felt like Mike and Raph had swapped. How unnerving.

"Mike. He may realize the magnitude of what he's done for now, but he'll forget it soon. Maybe he'll leave again for good, not just for a few days. Maybe next time they'll find-"

"_Stop!_" I had him yelling now. "This isn't you! What the hell is wrong with you? You don't mean any of this!"

"This isn't some sort of fun _game_, Mikey! This is real! This is danger, this total lack of safety no matter where we try to live because we're out in the open now!"

"This would have happened eventually, Leo! What, you thought we'd just hide in the sewers for the rest of our lives down there, all happy cuz Shredder's dead and yay, we can finally go back to a normal life? What the hell is a normal life, anyway? Know what I think? I think that no matter what we do or where we go, trouble's always gonna follow. We can't escape it; part of what we are is this freaky madness of aliens and monsters and mutations! But you know what, _so far_ that hasn't really mattered, because we all had each other. Until Raph makes a mistake- he wouldn't do that on purpose, and for the first time in twenty years the press notices us! And he's guilty- stop it a-and _look at me!_"

I started to shake my head halfway through the speech, clenching my teeth and making his sentences jumble. I had many comments to bark back, but followed up with the last one. "Regardless of the guilt you think he's feeling, that's not going to change anything."

"Wh- what is this? What, you're going to pick who you want to protect now? You're gonna be there for the rest of us and throw out the fourth one who fell out of your grace? Just because you won't take five seconds to come out of your shell and think about what he must be feeling?"

"No, Mikey. I'm not going to throw him out."

"You might as well, because I think he'd prefer it."

"…Throwing him out is not in my power, I just attempt to lead."

Two heartbeats later, he had me in a chokehold. Mikey. He held me against a tree, panting. The instinct to throw him sent electric shocks up my arms, but I found I couldn't retaliate. Something stung beneath the surface, stealing the oxygen from my rage. I couldn't raise a hand to Mike like I had Don.

There was something wrong with this scene, something brought on by a lot of stress and desperation, something that a small part of me understood. Inside, a little man screamed and thrashed about and scratched at the walls of my chest, ruining me from the inside out. His choked breathing matched my brother's, his tears flowed at the same rate. Somewhere between the two of them, with their bodies pressed so close, my heart stayed frozen in shock. I couldn't focus anywhere else but Mike's face. I couldn't touch him, not to toss him off me or comfort him, no matter how easy it would have been.

The angry energy drained from me and leaked in a puddle to the ground, and I was suddenly disgusted at the thought of standing in it.

"What the hell is happening?" His voice was rough, probably from a combination of things. "Where the hell did you and Raph go? You go off on vacation somewhere and didn't invite the rest of us along, you leave your bodies on some weird autopilot while you were away?"

It took me a full thirty seconds before I found my voice. It seemed like the little man had scratched it beyond functional capability. Words stumbled out, bruised and beaten and strangled by my brothers twitching hands. "I wouldn't exactly call it a vacation."

He dropped his eyes. The chokehold loosened. Without another word, he slid to the ground, kneeling at my feet, in my vile puddle of dissolved anger. The nunchuck he'd been using hit the dirt with a light thud and he brought his free hands to his face.

Minutes passed. In my mind, I floated helplessly without anything to hold on to. The little man was screaming in shame and self-doubt, he took his raw fingers to my chest wall and began to dig in an attempt to drill through and reach my brother.

My joints popped as I lowered myself slowly to his side. After a moment's hesitation, I placed a hand on his shoulder. He held himself stiff, neither accepting nor rejecting me. I sighed and rubbed his arm.

"This right here is everything I've been trying to prevent." He didn't answer me, he was too far gone. I waited a few minutes, bit the inside of my cheek till it bled. Something about this display had started that gravity up again. The memory of that black and white newspaper photo tugged at my consciousness, pulling itself in full view of my mind's eye. I was brought back to that moment of discovery, holding that newspaper, completely unwilling and yet helpless to resist.

"I'm sorry, Mikey."


	2. Michelangelo: Desperation

Chapter 2

_Maybe I should apologize. I recently published a new story which gave insight to how Raph had ended up in the condition mentioned in the first chapter, arguing that this story was meant to be starring Leo._

_Then what do I do? I start writing for Mike. And I get enough material to cover a chapter, which I think fits better here._

_Therefore, I decided it couldn't kill to post this Mikey/Don scene. So, for the Mike/Don lovers, here you are. I purposefully wrote out of first person, to keep this a Leo POV story, if that makes sense. Leo isn't here with his baby bro at the moment. _

_Don't own TMNT and related characters._

_Mike_

He couldn't help but be a little resentful when it came to the weather; the damn sky simply refused to match his mood.

Oh, well. If he couldn't make it rain, he might as well try to enjoy it, try to relax. Under normal circumstances, he loved the warm kiss of the sun, relished the feeling produced when it heated him to the core and allowed his muscles to unwind in sleepy satisfaction.

But today was different. His uncharacteristically sour mood was at its peak, probably from all the time invested in brooding, something he had been doing normally for the past couple of weeks. His stare of concentration was hardened by inner storms as he watched the shifting pattern the leaves left on his forearm, not really noticing the dappled appearance it gave his skin. The movement the breeze provided was simply something to look at, something to lock on to.

The tables had turned for Raph, pointing in a direction that Mike could only pray for when they found him a month or two ago. The battered sight of his admittedly favorite brother had shattered his heart and warped his soul, bringing him down to a level of depression which threatened to smother him in its haunting unfamiliarity.

Now Raph was physically better, breathing at normal levels, alert and oriented ("times three," Don had said, and Mike forgot what he said he meant by that) and able to move a little. Yep, his body was there. However, gone was the fiery attitude, the bitter venom.

Then again, Mike corrected, it was still there. Difference was, Raph seemed to have somehow imploded, caved in. He redirected all of his energy reserved for being a jerk inward, toward himself. He had himself caught in a ruthless chokehold, and he refused to let go. It seemed that the more Mike, Don and Splinter tried to talk to him, the tighter he clamped around his own throat.

His vocabulary had significantly reduced to match the new attitude. For the moment, he seemed to mostly stick to simple responses: the words "yes" and "no," along with the phrase "I'm not hungry." He used "where's Leo?" to answer some questions, mostly in regard to his family's attempts to comfort him by saying they were all together as a family.

All of those pissed Mike off, but maybe the worst part of it all was when, from both exhaustion and helplessness, someone became a little too emotional trying to snap Hothead out of it. It didn't matter if Raph was on the receiving end of tears, anger, or of someone begging. His response was always the same: he turned his face, trying yet failing to conceal that twisted look it would take on as his two brothers and father all but clawed the side of the mattress to shreds. Then he would say, "stop."

Mike heaved a sigh and forced himself to stand, eyes now locked on to a small tuft of grass as he wallowed in the partial safety of his own company. After a while he moved, taking his sweet time trudging back to the Hellhole, letting the sky go though its traditional process of color change before settling to blackness.

He would have been surprised if there had been any sound emitting from the bowels of the cabin. However, that didn't make the silence any more comfortable.

His first thought was to head to Raph's room, a compulsion borne from the stressful days where he had been unsure as to whether or not his brother would make it. Those had ended a few weeks ago, but the tendrils of stress still clung to him, like some sort of grime that, try as he might, he just couldn't scrape off his shell.

Instead of humoring impulse, he slid down the hallway, following a path of dim light emitting from the kitchen. The half-light, he saw, was coming from the stovetop, and was just barely enough for him to make out the shape of one of his brothers. Mike had known tea lights to give off a heartier glow, and thought that perhaps he would be better off walking around in the dark.

Without the shadow of the katana hilts, the name on the tip of his tongue solidified as the evidence backed up his hopes. For one thing, Leo never left his katanas lying around, _especially_ not in the state of mind he'd dug himself in to. For another, Leo's aura pulsed with an emotion uncanny among the rest of them. This figure possessed neither trait, which meant it was safe to enter the room.

"You followed him out again." Without the use of Leo's name, someone could easily make the statement seem like a type of accusation. Sort of. Not using Leo's name implied that he had turned into an angry 'it,' a shadow of what their brother had been. Such terminology was not often used by Donatello, but when he did use it, he could somehow say it in a way that didn't raise hackles.

Mike's tone over the word _he_ was slightly more acidic. "Followed him, and when he turned back to the house I let him go. For all I know he went out again." When the other didn't respond, Mike sat down with a grunt. "How's Raph?"

"No different." Don wasn't even trying to hide the exhaustion anymore. Mike noted that he seemed a little worse for wear tonight. "Won't eat still. He asked about Leo again."

"You said so yourself that everything's okay. You should get some sleep." Mike pointed his eyes forward, but his attention was focused on the figure to the right. "Sounds like you're ready to pass out or somethin'."

Don chuckled humorlessly as he leaned forward on one arm. "I don't seem to be able to get much, even when I try." He sucked air in deeply, and Mike's attention refocused. He began to recognize the shaky quality to Don's breathing, to his words. "I think I'm still a little hyped up."

The orange-masked decided to listen a bit more before he said something. "Nightmares, too?"

"Surprisingly, no. I dono…"

"You stabilized him. Right? Or what, you think he'll backtrack?"

It took Don so long to answer that Mike began to consider rewording the question. But of course Donatello understood. The tremor got a little worse as he lowered his voice to a murmur.

"Maybe."

Mike couldn't see very well, but he suddenly had the impression that the room was being tipped upside down. "Why?" His throat tightened around the forced question, and his ears rang in acknowledgement of the fact that the youngest turtle really did not want to know the answer. It was as though instinctively his body wanted to blot out the source of future stress.

"Raph's dishea-heartened." Don breathed in through his nose to gather breath, a distinctive wet sound which made Mike's stomach twist in realization. His purple-masked brother let the air stream out through his mouth, squirming so that he was leaning forward with his hands clasped over the table.

The feeling of terror rose at Donatello's apparent doubt, causing Mike's stomach to twist and grind uncomfortably against the empty space which had settled there. The intelligent brother's word was as close to a doctor's as the family could get. Heart still raw from the abuse his family had not had time to recover from, Paranoia rose from her fresh grave and settled heavily within his chest. She pulled on the strings there, making his muscles tighten as his mind settled at the tip of a mental rollercoaster, ready to roll downhill through thoughts which made little sense but represented the compulsive desire to run, to kill something, to do _anything_ as long as it contributed to the restoration of his brother's life.

However, the barely recognized need to keep his demeanor forced Mike to reign in his own emotion before he caved to his own hopelessness. Mentally he scrambled for purchase, blocking the thoughts out before they could skitter across his mind on their way to leave another mark on his soul.

He wasn't entirely successful: _Useless. All I can do is follow Leo around, dono anything else that could help-_

"What happened with Raph today?" The youngest turned in his chair, cutting the inner tirade off as he faced Don. He reached out and clasped his fingers around his brother's muscular shoulder, the one closest to him. The point of contact shook under Mike's suddenly clammy palm. Filled with emotion to the point of confusion, he couldn't tell if he was the one trembling.

"I confronted Leonardo." Don's misery explained the outcome of the conversation, and it made Michelangelo's thoughts hitch as realization dawned. The situation began to light on a path directed away from Raphael's death sentence, though by Donatello's words it was still implied.

Anger blossomed in Mike's chest as his brother's breathing suddenly took on a more jagged edge, then simmered down to grief as he waited helplessly, watching the signs he was so familiar with peak on the horizon. He shifted his weight forward at Don's first sob, bringing himself closer yet still maintaining his brother's space.

Donatello swallowed compulsively, as though clearing the runway for his next words. He made a small, choked sound and bit his lip as his chest continued to heave with the grief, trying to suffocate the agony by neglecting himself air.

"I don't know what else to _do_," the last word of the sentence trailed off, merging to sounds unrecognized by the English language. Mike sighed as Don leaned forward and planted his face in both hands, crying softly. Something about the ragged manner of these tears was different than what Mike had witnessed before, with Raph on his death bed.

To Donatello, having tasted the sweetness of relief, of accomplishment, the idea of failure had made the situation more heartbreaking.

"You did pretty much everything." Mike had no idea what to do, and settled for the clichéd answers as his mind sped around a new race track, trying to catch up to his brother. He almost withdrew his hand when Don shook his head, almost violently.

"If I can't—get Leo t-to see himself, and to s-see Raph… Raph won't listen to us…"

Mike tried to keep the burning doubt from his voice. "You think Raph would listen to Leo?"

"He t-thinks Leo is the only one acting sanely." He sucked in air. "He won't accept what we say."

"Uh, Leo's too high and mighty at the moment."

"He just doesn't n-know how to handle himself. He'll be ruined if he doesn't s-see. If he snaps out too l-late." Don paused, and something in his head triggered a new torrent of grief. He leaned forward, gasping through his sobs.

Mike reached across and slid a napkin dispenser closer to the two of them, jaw aching as he clenched his teeth. Something inside him was reaching its breaking point. He shook Don lightly to snap him back. "What did he say to you when you talked to him?"

Mike's tone was enough for Don to rope himself in a bit. "Wouldn't talk."

The orange-masked turtle raised his eye ridges. The sentence seemed incomplete.

"He p-pushed me."

"He pushed you." Don nodded. "Did he _hurt_ you?" A shrug this time, after which Don managed to pause for a moment to watch a spectrum of emotion trail across his little brother's expression.

Mike twitched. He turned and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, then burst forward, slamming a fist down on the table hard enough to make his companion start. "This is _so_ out of control!"

Don watched in comparable silence as Mike sat rigid for a moment longer, then stood, shoving his chair back so hard it tilted precariously on its hind legs for a moment before slamming forward. The sudden onslaught of noise was loud in the silence of the room

"What the hell is his _problem_?" He turned from Don. "He's acting like a friggin two year old!" Letting his temper come to a rolling boil, Mike then began to bark the words as they came to him. "He thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants! Like he's not the only one suffering! He does jack _shit_. He's gonna kill Raph with the friggin guilt! And then what, its gonna be all his fault that it happened and we'll never get _either_ of them back, all because neither of them can swallow their own damn pride-"

He didn't realize he was moving until, outside the doorframe, he paused. Don hadn't said a word throughout his outburst.

Turning back to the kitchen, he could see his brother had reverted back to the position of sitting with his face in his hands. Allowing himself to follow impulse this time, Mike slowly moved back to his brother's side.

"Bro?" When the purple-masked turtle didn't pull out of his grief to answer, Mike sighed, dragging his chair over so he could slide an arm awkwardly over Don's shoulders.

"I'm just as bad as them, though. Right?" His brother's only answer was to turn in his direction, placing his forehead against the top ridge of the orange-masked turtle's plastron. Michelangelo swallowed hard, trying to stomach the shame and revulsion he felt at the situation.

"This isn't right. We shouldn't be leaving everything on you."


	3. Leonardo: Hate

Firstly? **Warning for swearing. **I tend to write Raph with a potty mouth, and this chappie is no different.

Secondly... Hope you're all ready for this ridiculous chapter! It's long enough to be a fic of it's own so I hope nobody gets bored. X.x

I know most of my reviewers argued against OOCness, buut I'm still worried for this chapter hahaa! As I was writing the conversation actually built itself… I didn't expect realizations such as these to be made, and I'm afraid they may be too confusing and jumpy or just plain unoriginal. Then again, as far as the confused and jumpy part is concerned, I don't know about any of you, but when I'm upset my side of the conversation isn't exactly organized. You'll see what I mean.

_Apparently_ I put this chappie up on SS uncompleted, and totally forgot about it! So yep… if you read it there, this is a bit different. It's been beefed up ten or so pages.

Hope this works for you all! Thank you to all who reviewed!

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**Chapter 3**

Through the back entryway, down the hall and to the left, I stood before a closed door and listened to my father's muffled voice. He hummed softly to himself, muttering strings of Japanese every once in a while.

I listened to the sound of a cloth being wrung out, to my wounded brother's silence. The gravity was applying a constant pressure, pulling me forward as though I could simply walk through the thick grain of the wooden door, and I was resisting still. My anger and hatred swirled around me and my need to enter the room, mixing to a confusing concoction of uncertainty.

I swallowed, feeling Don pass behind me. He paused just long enough to make sure I was the one standing there before going on his way. I wondered if he had intended to enter, if I had changed his mind.

I felt cold guilt wash over me, making my body ache. I wanted to turn, to apologize for the unnecessary use of force…

"Leonardo." Of course Splinter knew I was here. He didn't sound angry, but I knew of his ability to mask himself. I curled my fingers around the knob, hesitated a second more, and entered.

Healing in the cabin was nothing like healing in the sewer. Here, the window could be opened, spilling fresh air and sunlight. Underground, the artificial lights and candles cast a yellow hue against the brick, making shadows which danced in the stale air. It is an ugly sight to many, but a comfort to me.

Perhaps it was comforting to Raph as well, because the blinds were drawn, and candles sat melting on to the finished wood of the various bedroom set surfaces. The shadows swirled and flickered ominously, with more violence than normal as one of the larger candles neared the end of its life. I felt the stare of my brother and father on me, and kept mine on the largest shadow of all- that of the bed.

"Permission to speak with Raphael." The words came out mechanically, almost like one of those programs Don has, the kind that reads the words to you.

The answer took so long that I began to think my father would refuse me. But then I heard him breathe out and haul the chair back, the wooden legs making a hollow grating sound as they scraped the worn wood flooring.

My nerves seemed frayed beyond hope of repair. The air around me pulsed, beating with the tempo of the shadows. I watched my shadow-sensei cross the room, felt his hand on me. Perhaps he _was_ angry. He gripped me so hard that I could feel his pointed nails on the skin of my forearm, threatening to cut deeper.

I obeyed the silent order, dragging my eyes to meet his. He stared back, expression unreadable. The man inside me screamed, churning my stomach as he stamped his feet.

"You will visit me at my quarters tonight, after all has been said and done and you are ready to present yourself to me." The order was given in a tone so soft that even the silence screamed louder, and I wondered if Raph could hear him over the barely audible crackling of candle wicks.

I worked my throat over the plug that had settled there, attempting to separate my vocal chords from their jumbled mass in order to give my answer. In the end, however, I could only close my eyes and bow my head, as though my father needed to be reassured, as though I would dare to exercise defiance.

In the short second it took for me to open my eyes again, Splinter was gone and I was alone in this room with my brother and the shadows and the gravity and my anger.

He started up the conversation. Though he had emerged from his near-death state a few weeks back, I had for some reason expected his voice to be missing some of its strength. "You gonna be the one to actually yell at me?"

I turned my head to look at him, holding my silence, still as a statue in the corner. His face was pointed down, glaring at the woven squares of the blanket, his aura reeking with the guilt he was attempting to hide from his eyes.

"Yeah, you are, aren't you? I know you. I know you look at things and don't see the sugar coating, like me." He lifted his chin slightly as he sensed my approach, but kept his eyes down. "You're so pissed, you even went back in to your psycho state. I can feel it, it's all in the air now." He laughed at the tense atmosphere. The sound of his voice carried the same a metallic quality mine had a moment ago. "They said you were bad again, and I didn't need to see you to believe it."

I yanked the chair to me, then shoved it forward to the edge of the bed and sat. My mannerisms were more violent than the situation called for, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he folded his hands and said, "Lay me out, Leo. Kill me, looks like you want to."

"You know what you did." My voice sounded alien; it felt like my brain and my mouth weren't attached.

"Yeah." There it was. The subtle weakening of his tone which told me he was trying to play off the guilt.

"And apparently you're not eating, and you aren't saying much," my eyes purposefully darted over him in a sizing-up sort of manner, "even though it seems to _me_ you're as conversational as ever. So why do I have to say anything?"

I watched his profile from my sideway angle. He looked genuinely surprised at first, which was predictable. Less predictable was his _agreement_, the solemn nod of his head. "I guess, yeah, you don't have to repeat the shit I already know. You already kindof did what I thought you thought and felt." He frowned, presumably at the crooked way his sentence came out, but I understood.

I leaned forward, planting my elbows on my knees, preparing myself for launch. I was going to head right in to a conversation that made us both uncomfortable, since we are not, as Mike would often tease, the 'lollipops and gumdrops' sort.

"Who are you to tell _me_ what I feel?"

He snorted. "You couldn't make it more obvious."

"I need to figure out what we're going to do now. We have nowhere to go." His temples bubbled slightly as he clenched his teeth. "I needed time to think about it, I still do. We can't stay here, out in the open. Not for much longer at least."

"That ain't the problem I'm thinking about."

"There's another problem?" Finally he lifted his gaze and stared. I pushed against the weightless feeling I had without the familiar foundation of anger burning in his eyes as I continued on. "Let me see if I have this right, Raphael. We're homeless. We're _discovered._ And for some reason, you'd like to add another portion to the plate? You think… what? Don't tell me that on top of the damage done, you're still stuck being selfish."

_There_ was the old bristle. Even wrapped in bandages as he was, laying in bed with little energy to waste on movement, he still had the ability to make himself appear larger, more threatening. "No, I don't need more selfishness. I've done nothin' but sit here and think about this, and what it means to all of you."

"Oh, really? And when we figure this out, and we get back in the sway of things, you going to forget all this, go out and do whatever you want and come back to us whenever you feel like it?"

Instead of spitting venom like I expected, he turned his eyes to the ceiling and changed the subject. "Wonder what it's like, not being the fuck up, thinkin' you can talk to people like that."

I was being baited, and I knew it. It was routine with us. But it didn't stop the flare of anger. "It only takes a little effort."

"You think you understand it all, but you don't know jack shit. You found your goal in life, and you're happy with it." His eyes snapped back to me, and I reflexively lowered my own. Something about that unfamiliar glimmer reflected in those dark pools woke that little man up, and he started to pace. "You'd protect and lead this family till we all die, and you get all bullshit when it's disrupted. I get that. But, you know. All your _effort_… did you even consider how it would be with two Leos? _You'd_ have to tag along sometimes, just like me. And you know what? That takes a lot out of you. A lot of _purpose_. Hence the fuck up, who fucks up, who doesn't fit anywhere and doesn't do anything good, who everyone just shakes their head at and wonders about.

"_You_ think I don't care. You're looking down at me, maybe you even hate me. And you know what? For once, that's a good thing. Cuz no one else will do it. They all say, 'at least we're together-'

"Well, we _are_ together-" He sliced the air with his good arm, cutting my sentence off as he continued with his own.

"- and then they smile and they say aw cheer up, and I look at them and wonder what the fuck is wrong with them, why they don't just kick me out and get it over with. Because obviously, I just keep getting worse. But no, I woke up thinking I was dead, and then when I saw them," He paused for breath, swallowing hard, creasing his forehead before continuing more quietly, "I wished I was. Cuz they're all just so happy to have their little fuck up back that they're willing to do anything. Which makes me think… you know what? You're probably not even here on your own accord. You probably were forced, Splinter probably said something."

My turn to be surprised. "I wasn't _forced_."

"'Force' has an completely different meaning for you. All they have to do is convince you they're hurt, and you hit the ground runnin'. You'd do anything, wouldn't you? You'd even come to me." His voice broke at the end of the sentence, but he continued on. The sound made my stomach drop, made the little man howl with laughter. "I can tell, I can see the way you're sitting, you can't stand to be this close to me. You're the only one who's thinkin' straight. You're the only one who can bring yourself to hate me."

"When did I ever say that?" I was exasperated now. Hate wasn't my word, it was his.

"Like I said, you don't have to say anything. Obviously I don't apply to the 'if you're hurt I'll come running' rule. Don said I almost fucking died. Too bad, huh? Because then you wouldn't have to-"

"Raph, quit it. You're wrong."

"So even when I'm right, and I know I'm right, you tell me I'm wrong. You don't have to protect me for them. They're not here."

"You _are_ wrong. You're all talk about life goals and purpose… I don't switch you-all around when I want to, it doesn't work that way."

"You wish it would."

"No."

"You say that, but I know you. Do _you_ know you? If I was going to go within the hour, why didn't you come?"

I heard the pain in his voice, the way it cracked again, and had to pause in response to my own wave of grief before answering. "Don would have gotten me if it progressed that far."

"And what would've you done?"

I was quiet. Without Mike, I didn't know what would have happened. I knew I would have come- maybe not of my own will, but Splinter would not have allowed my absence. Of course, to mention that here would only give Raph more of that sickly, heart-breaking satisfaction.

The anger stirred, and the man punched me in the chest. I paused in my train of thought, feeling a realization on the horizon. Suddenly, I could see him clearly, see what he was doing. Slowly, I came to see how far back these issues stretched.

Raph read me wrong; he smiled cynically. Within his eyes, I could see the pain building to an unbearable level. I saw the guilt and the fear, trapped. I saw in to his mind, and read my reaction as just another rejection, something that he had hinted he wanted. Yet at the same time, I felt his overwhelming disappointment.

He thought I hated him. He had thrown me explanations, _accusations_ which didn't really fit the situation if he had meant to be selfless: _you'd have to tag along sometimes, just like me._ He was attempting to explain the resentment I already knew existed, trying to give me the _why_ by providing the most obvious reasons I had neglected to fully acknowledge. He had reason to run, to get away, but he hadn't had reason _or_ want for the situation to turn sour. He was most bothered by the fact that he had been the one to "fuck up," yet he couldn't help but try to bring reason to it, to justify. He seesawed, beat around the bush, couldn't bring himself to fully admit wrong because, really, it was the wrong which drove him stir crazy to begin with.

He thought he deserved the hate and resentment he felt for himself, and so turned to me. It was obvious, so obvious, so wrong and unfair, and I allowed it, fed it_. _It uncovered the relationship between us, it pulled to the surface something that had changed dramatically from our childhood bond.

I couldn't remember when everything reversed, when we met that fork in the road and split down separate paths. It had gotten to the point where I couldn't see across to where he walked, not because of any obstacle laying there, but because he evaded my watch. And I let him, I got aggravated because he was hiding and so gave up searching.

The anger rose to a fever pitch, and I realized in the seconds before it snapped that it wasn't directed at him. At least, not in the way we both thought. I felt it unravel, saw the darkness beneath, felt the man in my chest take hold of it and wield it above his head.

Funny thing, it seems that time and time again I need to hurt someone in my family in order to come to the same realization.

"I would have come in here. I would've come, and I would've figured out what an idiot I was being a lot sooner. But then you would probably be dead." I shook my head in self-mockery, watching his face cloud. "I can't win this game against myself. I believe that I am working to protect you all, but in the end I always manage to do more damage."

The frown ripped away any suggestion that the smile had even existed. "What the hell are you going on about now?"

"I'll give you this: you're the most annoying of my brothers. The most frustrating, the one who always gives me the hardest time. The relationship we have isn't like the one I have with Don or Mike, it's something different. You're right, in a way… sometimes, I get to the point where I think I can bring myself to hate you. I get so angry, I become so fixed on your mistakes that eventually, the one day you really needed me, I wouldn't listen. Or I should say I couldn't listen."

Just by glancing quickly at his expression, focused to the other corner of the room, I could tell he was wishing I'd stop talking. At least he was listening to the 'lecture' without complaint. "You endangered our family, but the real kicker is the fact that we'll survive it; if you had died, Raph, we'd be shattered. Don't tell me you're _really_ wondering why everyone was so happy when they revived you. Did you ever think to see things from their perspective? Our home is gone… and maybe a brother, too? Do you think it really mattered then how they lost the home, with you here on your deathbed?"

He was shaking his head vigorously. "I fucked up, Leo! I fucked up bad, I'm such a fuck up…"

"Look at you." I stood up without really realizing it. I needed the movement. "Look at how you're acting. You're not spitting remarks, and that means that you can't bring yourself to contradict me. You're full up with guilt to the point where you're wishing you'd just die, because no matter the _reason_, you made the decision. And to _you_," I added weight to the syllables, stressing the word for emphasis. I didn't want to give him any reason to flip my words, "it just adds another reason why you're useless and don't belong."

His eyes narrowed to slits. He obviously didn't like the whole Towering Dominance thing, and his immediate response seemed borne of the instinctual need to prove me wrong. "Aren't you just the mind reader?"

I worked my throat against the impulse to turn my rage on him again, sitting down hard in attempt to quell some of his anger, getting ready to take another step forward that we were both uncomfortable with. I felt my body slack with… not defeat. But I was suddenly tired. Overwhelmingly so.

"I'm sorry, Raph."

His head snapped up, angry front up and running. He opened his mouth, thought, closed it, and tried again: "And what the hell could you be sorry for that I don't have you beat at times a thousand?"

_Keep it simple. _I let the emotion I was feeling seep in to the physical realm, felt my face twist as I broke down the dam I had built myself. "I'm sorry that you had to waste time thinking that I hated you."

A pause where he stared at me, his face a haunting reflection of my own. Then there was that metallic laugh again. He was still stuck clinging to his own defense mechanisms. "Same as I thought, different wording. There'd be no reason for it if I hadn't fucked up."

I managed to keep my voice even. The man inside me was still, listening. "I don't just mean now, I mean throughout the past however-many years you've thought it."

His laughter died down, and in the short silence before he spoke it played over in my mind, like the remaining snippets of sound from a nightmare. "What the hell you sellin?"

"You think you don't belong. You think I hate you- maybe you just want me to. They probably go hand in hand, don't they?"

He sat staring. This was obviously not the direction he'd thought this conversation would take. He expected the comforting familiarity of a fight, no resolution, just mindless, loud redundancy until we couldn't take each other anymore and I would have to storm out.

Suddenly I felt a rush of energy, of _excitement._ I hasn't expected this turn, either. I hadn't expected us to fall from the broken record of events, to actually get somewhere instead of patching up for the moment.

But this needed to be done. I needed to stop him, to keep him from doing whatever he did, because no matter the wrong he will continue to endanger everyone around him.

I remember what it's like to hate myself. I remember the loss of control, the willingness to blame everybody but the one person responsible.

The problem wasn't entirely Raph's late-night outings, his thug-bashing parties, or his anger. He will always go to the surface, will always wreak havoc on the criminal bodies above. The issue at hand revolved around the fact that he had somehow convinced himself that he didn't matter, and that caused him to be careless. He never brought it up, and he got worse. I- _we,_ we rejected his actions and just provided more proof for him.

Then he slipped up, made his big mistake, and saw the error of his actions from more than one angle. All of a sudden, our brothers didn't care about the mistakes. But I did, though not necessarily to the level he had thought… and now that I had come to prove him wrong, he deflated. Guilty, because he had always been wrong.

The worry that he might be hurt was there all along, but we let him continue. We had been just as careless as he was.

_I _had been careless.

"I'm not going to yell and scream at you, Raph, because that's not what you deserve. And I'm not going to say I hate you, because that's impossible. I can't hate you any more than you hate me."

He didn't move. Well, okay then. It gave me a moment to think of what to say next, organize the buzzing thoughts to words. "Do you remember that time that I was on the deathbed, and you all told stories to try to wake me, even though you guys thought you'd lose me, too?"

Raph didn't answer me. I chanced a look at him, having already tasted the emotion, knowing the anguish I'd see before my eyes actually settled to his face. He _knew._ He could see where this was going and hated it, hated the weakness, hated he was wrong. It was one of those moments where you're not supposed to look at the person you're talking to, not necessarily for their own benefit but for your own, unless you want to lose your composure.

It had only taken a few words down this path of conversation, and I'd broken him. I pointed at his reasoning, highlighted it in the light, and crushed it. Even through countless fights, through spit and blood and sour thoughts, hate could never plant it's seed, because in the end, there was no capacity for it. We both knew that.

For some reason I can't figure out, acknowledging this with him hurts more than I could anticipate.

Predictably, my voice began to shake as I ground out the words, managing somehow to redirect some of the burning anger to them, allowing the passion to ring forth the truth of my words: "Don't you ever think for one second that the fear you were feeling wouldn't be mutual on my part."

He let out a sharp breath, a sarcastic sound somewhere between a snort and sneeze, weakened with the pressure of emotion. My gut clenched, and the man inside me grinned as he channeled my anger.

"You wanna know the real kicker of it all?" I smiled, feeling a dull, detached surprise at the physical effort it took. "_I'm_ the fuck up."

"I'm the leader, the big brother," my voice cracked as my throat clenched in a painful way over the word 'brother,' and I continued anyway, "and even after Japan I'm still so absorbed in the big picture that I toss aside what's really important to me."

I paused for a thirty second intervention to calm myself, wondering if it was moral to shut out the image of my brother's crumpling face in order to get my point across. "Think about the story you told me when I was in your place, Raph. I know there are others. We both have them, we were both there." He moved to bring a hand to cover his face, fingers stretched to press at the outer corner of each eye. I dared to look up again, eyes following the path of that hand. I reached forward, touched his shoulder. The muscles beneath his skin were trembling lightly, vibrating as he tensed his entire body against the feel of my flesh.

"The only thing that changed was the fact that we had to grow up. No matter how pissed I get, no matter what you do, I'm not going to let go of those memories and our companionship, because I know what hurts you the most is the fact that you think we somehow lost it along the way." My tongue felt sticky in my mouth. "Am I wrong?"

"Stop." His voice was weak, pleading.

"No. Answer me. _Am I wrong?"_

He clenched his teeth. "You know I hate this."

"The situation?"

"I don't know where the fuck any of it came from." He averted his eyes. "I didn't even really realize all of it until a little while ago."

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. He looked up as though expecting something himself_, _so I asked, "what're you talking about?"

"I dono." He sighed in frustration, probably at having to explain. "I don't know when everything started gettin' screwy. It's been like this for years. I figure something must have happened down the line. But…" He shook his head, then started again. "You came back, and I just snapped somewhere. I was bad for months before I fucked up. I kept making mistakes, small shit. Dono why. I don't think there's a reason, but… I couldn't stay home for long and kept having to get out."

The conversation was twisting in every direction. I flipped back to the memories of my return. For the most part, they had been happy. I had been relieved to find them all intact. "Did I do something?"

"No." The ring of certainty in his voice should have been comforting, but it made me more nervous. He could see that. "Look, things just weren't right without you there. Every time someone mentioned you, we all had to pause like you _died_ or something. And when you came back I still wasn't satisfied. Like it didn't fix shit like I thought, for me."

"Fix what?" The question was automatic.

"I don't _know_!" He growled. Suddenly, his eyes were brimming. The gravity tugged at my navel, then pushed me forward to grab his fist as he pounded the bed once in frustration. "I don't know what the hell you did, or what the hell is missing, I don't know why I do what I do, or think what I think! It just _is_! I'm wrong, I'm a fucking idiot, a fuck up. I let the shit that didn't exist get ahead of me, and now look!"

He sat panting for a moment. The large candle finally died, and the smell of it's smoke laced the air. Raph wrenched his hand from my grasp so he could scrub his eyes. "Are you happy now?"

I shifted in my seat, feeling dirty. "No."

"Well, that makes two of us."

"I wish I knew what's missing." I felt childish, small. The sentence seemed to lack maturity, seemed simplified. Yet at the same time, it matched perfectly with what I was feeling.

He closed his eyes against the thought. Another tear crept from beneath the lid.

This wasn't how we normally settled problems between us, and it almost felt wrong in the sense that the sight of his grief made me want to run away, while his anger baited me, had me lunging to counter his attack.

I sat quietly for a moment, listening to his uneven breathing. My mind buzzed around his comments. Stuck with a thought, I let out a single laugh, shook my head in self-mockery.

"You said I was forced here. You think they somehow _made _me come here. You wanna know something that makes me just like you?"

I stood, slowly this time, towering over him again. He had turned his face away from me, and I grabbed his better arm and shook him till he was forced to meet my gaze. I ignored the tears there, lowering myself until our noses were inches from touching.

"There is _nothing_ in this world that can control me when it comes to my family, _no one_, because I live in a world where nothing matters but all of you. Every _single_ one of you, because in this world nobody could possibly ever come close to meaning what you all mean to me. Its more than just being the _leader. _The only flesh and blood I have… the only p-people I will ever love, I _will_ go insane trying to protect you, because that is the only thing in this shitty, rejected life worth living for is the preservation of this family.

"I know you know that, Raph. I know you feel the same exact way, and that's one reason you get angry. You have no outs but with us, and sometimes you hate that fact, but in the end you'd have it no other way. And that's why no matter what you do, no matter where you go, you would never intentionally hurt any of us, because we're the only good in the world we've made for ourselves.

"I can't live without all of you. It will break me, cripple me, if I ever have to lose you." I was feeling numb, the air around me buzzed dully. I didn't recognize the burning in my eyes until water dripped from my beak and landed to join Raph's in the pillow. I squeezed the arm I still held, barely registering the strength I was exhibiting, even when he grit his teeth against a wince. "Apparently I'm going to be my own demise, because I almost did lose you, and I let you continue not wanting to move on, because I was so absorbed in what _could_ be our future that I didn't see what was happening immediately before me."

"How the hell does all that make you like me?" He forced his voice out thorough his teeth, like an old fashioned clothes roller, wringing out the quaky sound of his grief.

It took me a bit longer to find my voice again, suddenly out of breath. I restored personal space between us by sitting back down in the chair. "I'm like you because I let my bad decision lead to something I can't even bear to think about, and it was close enough of a call where I wish you would push me away and say it was too late to save you. So that I can get what I deserve for being a 'fuck up' leader.

"I hated myself too, Raph. That's why I left. I hated myself, and kept hurting all of you. But… I didn't really realize that the self-hate didn't matter until I had to switch places with you. Think about it. When I left… when I hurt Sensei, were you as angry with me as I wanted you to be, as I was with myself?"

"It's not the same as what I did." Stubborn, his last threads of denial, of defense. I reached for his forearm as composure escaped him for a few breaths, before he sucked in and forced out, "_fuck_."

"No, I know. I know it's not the same as what you're going through." I sighed. The air felt good, even as the room around me grew uncomfortably awkward with the memory of the emotional scene. He and I rarely if ever opened up so freely, and I felt raw from exposing, actually putting to _words, _the sensitive half-thoughts and feelings.

I wiped my free hand across my eyes, pressed the knuckles to the soft orbits. To make things worse, I had cried. Not in a sobbing, break- down sort of way, but it was enough to see surprise and to an extent horror in my brother's eyes. I began to wonder if I had made sense, if I actually had been blubbering and stuttering the whole time, then cut off the picture of myself in my head as I felt the embarrassment tug at my resolve.

Ridiculous, but something told me what had happened was necessary for a number of reasons. I looked at him and wondered if he understood everything I had been trying to cram in on vocab autopiolet. He was staring at me. Tears still ran. I tried a smile, knowing it was pathetically small under the pain of the ripping, tearing gravity pulling at us from every direction trying to yank us apart.

"I guess to make things more simple I should just tell you to stop being an idiot and to get your head back in the game, because we have some cleaning up to do that we can't start unless we're all together." I dropped my head, finding the weight of my smile too exhausting. "Stop blaming yourself, Raph, because nobody cares as long as you're alive."

After another long moment, he blinked and breathed, too. "Are you done now? Will ya _stop_ like I said?"

"Whatever you want." I waited a beat. "Well actually, do you get what I'm talking about?"

He breathed deeply again, a huffy sigh. "Yes."

"Will you accept my apology?"

Without the hardness of anger, he almost looked like Don as he spoke. "We grew up, Leo. You said it yourself. You got nothin' to apologize for."

Emotionally, I felt almost as drained as he looked, plus or minus the recent near-death experience. Sensing we'd both had enough, I waited till he calmed down, then got up and told him to get some rest. I took his returning grunt as one of agreement, until he stopped me.

"Hey."

I stopped in mid-turn and looked back down at him. When he didn't answer, only worked his throat, I balled my hand to a fist and lightly pressed my knuckles to his shoulder in a mock punch.

"What?"

Another deep breath through his teeth, like the muffled hiss of a snake. "M'sorry too. More than you know. Even if you don't hate me, it's obvious I pulled you through more shit than anyone else this time."

"I pulled myself though it," I corrected. "You were just the fuse to the bomb."

He raised an eye ridge. "Short fuse."

"…To a potentially devastating bomb." He was still so serious, no smile, which was partly his way. Then again, under normal circumstances I can usually get a sarcastic grin or two. "Raph, I'll more than forgive you if you just get better."

"What's in the 'more?"

For a beat I considered answering seriously. "Wouldn't you like to know? When you can get up and _spar_ it out of me, maybe I'll tell you." Almost as an afterthought, having been educated from years of brotherhood, I added, "Not a day before Don says so, though."

Finally, dimly through the fog, the light of that smile, that challenge, without trace of the metallic-synthetic laughter. "Eh. I can take you now."

In answer, I turned my back and moved to the doorway. Yes… we'd both had more than enough. "_Rest_, Raph, and then _maybe_ we'll see."

* * *

Hope that wasn't too bad/ disappointing.

I cut off three pages at the end to make another chapter, though this one will be much shorter. It'll probably be up in a few days.


	4. Leonardo: No Matter the Wrong

_Here's the scene missing from the previous chapter. Its not long and I haven't changed it much from the original. And that's pretty much all I have to say!_

_Hope you all are happy with the ending, still not sure if I nailed Leo, but since it's going to take much more than one talk to get him to start to forgive himself... well, you all know how he can be. ;)_

_So, yep. Enjoy._

**_TMNT and all related characters are not mine._**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Moving out to the hall, I felt the little man's weight at the pit of my stomach and wondered absently if I'd be sick tonight. Stress level still high, my muscles twitched in anticipation of a good run. Only half the grief was gone; the key to the rest was supporting my family and working it out myself. We'd find a way to survive.

Still, I had a lot to think about.

Don was in the kitchen, chatting quietly with Mike. They fell to a marked silence as I walked through and leaned heavily in the doorframe. Don gave me the kind of lip-smile where you show no teeth, his eyes doing a subtle sweep over my face, lingering a fraction of a second longer over my reddened rims. I felt surprised that he wasn't giving me the cold shoulder about tossing him out of my room the other night. Mike, on the other hand, looked statue-like.

"I'm sorry." I was dishing out apologies tonight.

Donatello answered. He knew the track my mind was on immediately. "You didn't hurt me."

The shame at the memory rose, and I shoved it down, including Mikey in my gaze. "For a little more than that."

Don sighed and spoke slowly, as though he was afraid I wouldn't get what he was saying. "Leo, we were all at the end of our ropes. A lot happened, all at once."

"It doesn't excuse my behavior." My voice was rough and foreign sounding, a reflection of my weariness.

"It really doesn't," Mike piped. My apology had brought back the old glint in his eyes. Eager to forgive, he was horrible at holding grudges, a testament to his ability to continue joking with Raph after a beating. He leaned back in his chair, joints popping as he resumed his familiar nonchalant posture.

I realized then how tensely he had been holding himself, not for an hour, but for the past couple of weeks. I remembered now, but hadn't noticed then, too preoccupied with myself. "Don't worry, though. I gave you your scheduled wake-up call."

I sighed at his understatement, still in my bubble of depression and determined to stay there for a while. "I should thank you, too."

My youngest brother dismissed me with a flick of his wrist. "Just get home early enough to have supper with us tonight. As a family." He eyeballed me. "Maybe after talking to you, he'll actually come around and eat."

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, weighted with his words. He snorted, sounding more like his old self with every passing second. "And, Leo, when you _do_ come, leave your awkwardness at the back door. It's all good now, right?" His smile, hopeful at the edges, stretched even wider. "We're all a big green unit again?"

My tiny nod was enough for him to pry his gaze off me and turn back to his newspaper. He was obviously satisfied.

"You can't fix everything at once." Don was watching me in an oddly piercing way that totally contrasted with Mike's dismissive attitude. I ignored the twitching scream of my muscles as I walked in and stood a little way from where he was sitting.

"An unfortunate fact," I smirked. "You should take your own advice more often."

That wiped Don's smile and, I knew without looking, dragged Mike's attention from the news article. Don held the expression of someone caught, who had thought he had gotten away.

"Look," I sighed, "I know I… upset you. I know I left everything to you, and an apology really doesn't cover it."

I chanced a glance at Mike, who was beaming his approval, eyes still directed down at his paper. Don's voice brought me back.

"And… what do you suggest as payment, then? Blood sacrifice?" I turned my gaze to him and, predicting my rebuff, he stopped me by rising from his seat. "Hey… all I really care about it that the whole mess is behind us."

He motioned me forward, then grabbed me in to a hug. He planted his forehead against my shoulder, and I reached up to clap a hand across the back of his neck.

Exhaling deeply in a sigh, he said, "Just next time try to confide in us a bit. You know, _before_ things get out of hand?"

"You know that's difficult."

"A good leader always turns to his most trusted for aide. I'd go as far as to say that you owe me that much. You actually owe all of us."

He jerked his head as if to pull away, and I held him a second longer. "I'm proud of you, Donnie."

He chuckled dryly, then pulled away to examine my face. "Are you okay?"

"Are _you?"_

Instead of getting annoyed like Mike or Raph would, he shrugged. "I will be. As long as everyone else is okay. And nobody goes off and does anything rash." I cringed inwardly at the pointed look he gave. He knew it; somehow, he saw my reaction, and softened his gaze accordingly.

"I'd have to confide in you first, right?"

"Since you're avoiding me, I'll have to take your answer as a _no, _you're not okay_."_

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"There's no way that _you two _ of all people could resolve something so quickly. You're tense as all hell, you held an embrace for _more_ than 3.5 seconds, and the guilt's clearly written on your face."

"In, like, twelve different languages." Mike had his head tilted to the side in mock imitation of Don's scrutiny.

Feeling slightly cornered, if not annoyed at the playful way they were picking at me, I forced the defensive acid from my voice. "I messed up. I overreacted . Again." I focused on Don. "Really… you don't know how sorry I am." I glanced at my hands. "I can't…"

Expression still soft, Don looked about to say something when Mike interrupted. "You acted all crazy and wrong and yeah, you messed up. So did Raph, and so did I, when I attacked you, and so did Donnie, when he…" Mike paused, then laughed and gave a sheepish smile. "Never mind, Donnie didn't do anything uncalled for. But yeah, Leo. Nobody's perfect. We don't _ask_ you to be."

"I'm the _leader_."

"So lead. Get angry when things go wrong." Don had his arms folded over his plastron. "Beat us around a little bit, and then come back. You're not the leader of some random horde of nobodies, we're brothers. And for the record I've never thought you to do anything without good _reason, _Leo."

"Yeah. If you're looking for a way to somehow perfect stress response, as though that's possible but I know you'll go for it anyway, just try to not make yourself so scary."

I tried to smile at Mike. "You scared me right back."

He didn't return it. The expression on his face didn't match the still-light tone. "The three of you were acting like big fat crazies, and it wasn't going anywhere good. I had to deviate from my normal technique so that I could, once again, save the day."

Don shot him a sideways glance. "O great Mikey, what would we do without you?"

The other sighed theatrically, waving Don's comment away. "Save your gratitude for the formal All Hail Mikey session I plan on throwing after everything clears up. You guys owe me one from Battle Nexus anyway." He peeked at my solemn features. "Hm, apparently I'm lacking in my old technique today. Guess I haven't been trying that hard."

"He wants to go out." Don stated knowingly.

"I think I just need a good run," I half-apologized, adding a pathetically weak chuckle.

Mike snorted and returned to his paper. "You humor me by pretending to like my humor, which in the end is not the least bit humorous, 'cuz you're not humored."

"Just…" Don had his hands held up as though I would break though the back door at any second. "Just be _careful_. It's okay, Leo. Everything's good, so don't push it too hard."

I swallowed against the onset of dryness in my throat. He looked… raw. "I won't go far, and I won't be gone long." For a short moment I deliberated scrapping the question on my tongue. "No matter what wrong I do to you, you'll still care about me, won't you?"

"I wouldn't exactly say '_no matter wha- oww!"_

Don snatched his hand back as Mike swiped out in retaliation to the blow. "Well, would you care about _me_ no matter what?"

I didn't have to think much about my answer. I looked to Mike, who was rubbing a reddened spot on his arm. "Apparently I need a wake up call every once in a while… But not caring isn't possible."

"Then don't go expecting any different from me. No matter what."

"There's no escaping it with the four of us." I was unsure as to whether Mike was leaning more toward agreement or sarcasm until he winked at me.

I shifted on my feet. "Hey," Don said. "Give it time. We'll all come around." He jerked his head to the door. "Catch you later."

I sighed as I turned, breaking to a run before I was out the door. I relished the immediate rush of exhilaration, launched myself off the front steps as hard as I could as the feeling twisted with the guilt I was attempting to leave behind. My brothers' forgiveness was one thing; convincing myself I deserved it was another.

"Supper, eight o'clock!" Mike boomed at me, his voice carrying a command that I wouldn't dare disobey.

* * *

_That's all she wrote, folks._


End file.
